The Shadow That Saved the World
by Harry O'Henth
Summary: The Grey Wardens are strong, but they are short-sighted. They have to be, with a life-span shortened by the Calling, but the threat of the darkspawn demands a man with vision. A man like Raevan. /Contains all origins except Tabris, will follow Origins...mostly.
1. Prologue - An Honorable Death

Prologue

An Honorable Death

9:22 Dragon

The Thanstitian Company set up camp at the foothills of the Hunterhorn mountains in Anderfels, and they gathered around a large bonfire in the center of their ring of tents, sitting in pairs or trios and waiting for Raevan, their revered leader, to update the company about their destination and objective. So far in their journey, they had merely marched on the orders of the Pharangalans, or division commanders, and had not questioned the orders of their leader. There was a sense of unquestioning loyalty among the soldiers in the company, for every soldier heeded the words of his superior with obedience and nothing else. It was this discipline that made the Thanstitian Company so feared on the battlefield, and so revered in the eyes of their enemies and allies alike. There were always going to be questionable orders or incompetent decisions, but the men could berate their commander later, after the battle was over. There was no time for arguments on the field.

As a matter of fact, one of the more common practices in the company was to challenge a superior for authority of their squad, platoon, division, or, although it had never happened, the company itself. There were two hundred men and women in the company, and they were divided into two divisions of one hundred. Each division was divided into two platoons of fifty, and each platoon was divided into five squads of ten. There were various ranks within the company: many Warriors, twenty squad-leader Tharinlan, four platoon-commander Sequestian, two division-commander Pharangalan, and the Thanstit. No one had ever dared to challenge Raevan for command of the company, but it wasn't rare for tests of skill to be conducted around the bonfire whenever they stopped.

In the fifth squad, it was almost a nightly occurrence.

"Haha, you don't have the balls!" one of the warriors exclaimed in response to a threat from the Tharinlan. He was a monster of a man, with broad, muscled shoulders and arms thicker than most thighs. The Tharinlan of his squad was a large man as well, but nowhere near as big as the giant, and his specialty was magic-assisted melee.

"Is this a challenge?" he asked with a heavily Orlesian accented voice, gripping the hilt of his sword with one hand. His eyes were dancing with dangerous fire. The giant laughed deeply and drew his blade.

"Damn right!" he declared, and the Tharinlan responded by drawing his own gleaming blade. A shimmering blue disc appeared on his right arm, and his body glowed a dull white in the dusk sunlight.

The nearby warriors quickly cleared a circle about five meters across and began egging the two warriors on. The giant had a greatsword, with longer reach and more powerful strikes, but the Tharinlan had been Tharinlan for two weeks for a reason: no one could beat him in combat, and he hadn't made any mistakes in the field.

The Thanstit himself was watching the proceedings with interest from beneath his hood, arms crossed over his chest. He evaluated their postures as they clashed, and they both had nearly flawless stance. In the heat of battle, however, the Tharinlan had superior footwork. The greatsword came crashing down on the shimmering blue shield, which pulsed brightly from the impact, and the glittering longsword, undoubtedly coated with some magic or another, swung out, only to be met with steel. A loud clang echoed around the campsite. Just because his sword was large didn't mean it was slow by any measure, and the giant was keeping the battlemage on his toes with his wide, arcing strikes. They were easily predictable, however, and the Tharinlan was in no danger besides becoming tired. That was the problem with wielding a greatsword: it was easier to predict your attacks, for the shield wasn't blocking vision of your center.

Neither of the warriors was fighting to kill, that much was obvious by how they kept the contact of their swords flat-on-flat, diverting the strikes instead of outright blocking them, and if a hit was about to connect, which it rarely did, then the blade would turn to strike with the blunt edge. Both warriors were greatly skilled, and it was a simple adjustment to wrist movement to make sure that the other wasn't gravely wounded. Eventually, however, in a daring move, the battlemage stepped closer, blocking the pommel on the greatsword with his shield as the giant moved for an overhead strike, and slammed his enchanted blade into the man's side. Despite the fact that he struck with the flat, the giant crumpled like a puppet with his strings cut, and the battlemage sheathed his weapon as he fell. The enchantment upon the blade was powerful, and the giant was likely to be immobile for several hours.

That didn't mean he couldn't shout still. "You cheating bastard!" he shouted up from his prone position. "Someone roll me over, dammit!"

Raevan grinned and applause roared out from the surrounded warriors, but it was short-lived. Because this sort of thing happened every night, it had become a part of life around the camp, and was nothing to get overly excited about. With that finished, Raevan stepped into the light of the fire, and the nearest of the warriors snapped to attention from where they were sitting.

"Thanstit!" they barked, and the rest of the circle immediately stood and watched as Raevan walked to stand beside the large fire.

"At ease, friends," he said, pulling his hood back to reveal his chiseled face. Every part of him looked to be carved from stone, especially as he stood with his back ramrod straight in front of his men. They deserved to know what their contract was, so that the Tharinlans and Sequestians could prepare their men for the upcoming battle. "We've set up camp at the foothills of the Hunterhorn mountains. There's a ruin further in these hills that the Chantry has hired us to clear of monsters. They already lost a division of Templars to the beasts within, and were willing to overlook the presence of magic-users in the Company if we did this favor for them."

Marc, one of the Pharangalans and a close friend of Raevan himself, stepped from the crowd. "What kind of beasts are we expecting?"

"All sorts of Fade demons and their various summons," Raevan replied. His voice was loud, trained by the years he had spent leading this company to victory, and every man could hear him over the flames. "Most of us have fought demons and their kind before. Those of you who have not should find someone who has and get some advice. It might just save your life. Tomorrow, we march tot eh ruin and begin our mission, it is less than ten leagues from this place."

With that, Raevan returned to the company of his warriors, and conversation started up among the huge family once again. He smiled as he heard the men discussing combat forms and tactics, as well as family matters and various other concerns. It would be a glorious day tomorrow, Raevan was sure of it.

* * *

The Thanstitian Company reached the site of the ruin at mid-morning the following day, divided into their squads and waiting before the gaping maw of what looked like a simple hole in the side of the mountainside. Raevan was at the head of the group, peering into the darkness, and he felt as if a cold hand was twisting his guts into knots.

"Light the torches," he told his Pharangalans, and the order was shouted across the company. Every shield-wielding warrior had a torch strapped to the front of their shield, and after a few moments of movement, they were all lit and flickering. Raevan, satisfied that they would be able to see once they entered the cavern, signaled for them to advance. The armored and shielded warriors took positions at the front of the company, and the others gathered behind them, ready to lob arrows or fireballs into any enemy that they came across. It was hard to lead a company from the front lines, but Raevan had trained his Pharangalans well, and they would guide his men to victory. There wasn't much strategy involved in cavern combat, besides, and Raevan was relatively certain that it would simply come to a brawl.

Thanstitians were born for brawling.

They descended deep into the cavern before they caught the first hint of hostiles. It wasn't a beast, but a reddish slime that covered the walls, pulsing as if it had a heartbeat of its own, and it covered the entire floor of the cavern. The myriad of torches illuminated the way clearly, and Raevan could see shadows crawling about further down the tunnel. Some of the men shifted uncomfortably when they saw the fleshy substance, but no one dared to run.

The call went up. "Contact front!"

Shields were tightened, swords were raised, and the column of men halted. The sound of their breathing echoed off the cavern walls Then, a horrible screech tore through the air, and the cavern before them was suddenly alight with the eyes and flaming hands of various monsters. The company tensed, and the mages prepared defensive spells, just barely managing to cast them before a surging mass of clawed, flaming, twisted creatures broke upon the shields. Flames flared up on pulsating blue spirit magic, searing the fleshy carpet and causing an acrid smell to curl the noses of the warriors. Raevan drew his swords, two red steel long swords, sharpened to a keen edge and enchanted to remain sharp unless under incredible weights. The warriors on either side of him watched his flanks as he cut down the surging beasts with quick, efficient slashes.

Raevan barely had to think about pushing forward before the entire column of warriors took several steps into the throng of enemies, using their shields to throw the demons back. Some of the warriors were fighting on top of their fallen brothers, shouting ferocious cries that nearly drowned out the eerie screams of the monsters that they faced. None of the Thanstitians fled, even when huge, twisted animals hit their lines, towering three times a man's height. The archers hailed arrows upon them, aiming for the eyes and the heart. Crossbows sang, longbows hummed, and enchanted arrows tore through the demon ranks. After what seemed like hours, the assault subsided, and the mercenaries crowded together, licking various wounds and watching cautiously as the demons fled back into the shadows.

"Pharangalan, report," Raevan said as he turned to Marc. The man straightened, despite a wound in his side, and barked an order. Every squad, starting with one and ending at twenty, reported their casualties via terse shouts.

Twenty dead, three wounded. It was much better than what the demons had suffered, but still an astounding number for the Company. The last time they had lost that many men was during a civil war in Tevinter Imperium, and it had only gotten worse after the first battle. Despite the death, it had been an honorable and glorious war.

"We press on," Raevan decided, hefting his swords. Their weight was like an extension to his arm after years of combat, and he no longer relied on improvisation to snatch his victories. It was all instinct now.

"Aye," Marc agreed, and bellowed the command. They could have used signal flags to communicate, as some of the professional military groups did across Thedas, specifically the Orlais chevaliers and the Tevinter Imperium's legions. But with a company as small as two hundred, there was not a better way to communicate than shouting as loud as possible. And there was something memorable about being hoarse for several days following a good battle.

They pressed forward, stepping over the corpses of the demons that they had slain. Blood poured across the fleshy substance that coated the walls made footing treacherous, and it was a slow advance that the mercenaries made into the cave.

Raevan was just about to consider that they had gone tot eh wrong site when the cavern walls finally gave way to ornately carved columns and huge brick walls. The floor was a carefully laid square tile, and the ceiling was a beautifully constructed dome, supported by thick arches of concrete. The company halted as they entered this gargantuan hall, spreading out so that they stretched across its entire width, and Raevan stood, impressed, in the center. At the far end of the hall, barely illuminated by the torches of the mercenaries, was a circular intersection that split into three separate tunnels. Before they could consider those exits, however, there was another swarm of demons to be slaughtered.

Battle consumed the hall as the two forces met, magic flying from both sides. Because they had stretched so thin, however, the left flank was left without the protection of mages, and that was what spelled their doom. A powerful lightning blast raked across their lines, tearing the men apart in a vicious display of power, cast by a lone desire demon at the head of a wedge of vicious monsters. The demon fell from four well-placed arrows, but the damage had already been done.

"Watch the left!" Raevan roared. "Circle up!"

The melee fighters on that side, still protected by the mages behind them, were forced to pull back in a curve, defending the ranged combatants behind them. Raevan cut his way towards them, leading a counter push into the demon horde and slaying any magic user that he could find with his own squad of men. The best and most loyal soldiers stood at his back, and it was this heroic group of men that saved the Thanstitian Company from total defeat in that great hall. Raevan was a terror ont eh field, his blades tearing through flesh, stone, and steel as if it were butter. He simply reached around their defenses like fluid, unscathed as he tore them apart, and every man that saw his prowess was inspired to greater lengths.

The demons, knowing that they were defeated, cast powerful magic into the archway behind the company, shattering the columns that supported the heavy weight of the earth. The mercenary mages could do nothing to stop the collapse of the entrance as the stone fell in huge crumbling blocks upon the exit. They were trapped.

Raevan and his soldiers chased the demons all the way back to the three split tunnels where they disappeared into the dark portals. He spat on the ground in disgust at this venture, and turned back to see the rest of the company approaching. He saw in their faces sorrow, determination, and weariness. They had lost too many brothers this day, and too many of their wives and children would be left to fend for themselves back at the settlement in Rivain because of it.

"Status!"

Fifty casualties. A fourth of the original force had been cut apart by the magic of the enemy due to a simple deployment error. Raevan cursed and pointed at his men with his blade. "We will not allow their deaths to be in vain. We will travel as a group down each tunnel, with warriors guarding out flank. We cannot afford to be split into small targets again."

"You heard the Thanstit! Form up, we head down the left tunnel first!" Marc barked, and the mercenaries moved in lock-step to enter formation. As the men prepared, Marc turned to Raevan, a frown on his face. "Do you think we can complete this contract?"

"No," Raevan replied honestly. He never lied to his men. "But we have no choice. The way is blocked."

Marc nodded grimly. If they were to die, then it would be with honor. When the column was prepared once again, Raevan took the lead and they descended down the first of three tunnels. There was little in the way of resistance as they practically sprinted through the tunnels, dispatching the demons they encountered with no hesitation or remorse. The only time that the company stopped was when they came upon the corpses of the Templar division that had been sent previously, now animated by some horrific magic and fighting against them. The fallen warriors that had assailed this ruin over the past century were arrayed against them, and still the Thanstitians were victorious. Until the enemy poured from the tunnel that they had just descended from.

"They're flanking us!"

Raevan nodded and twirled his blades in anticipation. This was it. The final stand. Further ahead, behind the swarm of demons, was a dais, illuminated by red light. Upon it was a cage built of stone, held together by huge pulsing tendrils of blue magic, and within it was a dark shadow. Raevan could hear its whispers in his mind, and he knew that this was the evil that was controlling the hordes. If they could reach it, and slay it, then they would have completed their purpose, even if they didn't live to receive payment.

"Marc!" Raevan called as the mercenaries engaged the risen dead. "We must push forward! There!"

Miraculously, Marc saw what Raevan was indicating and he relayed the orders to the other Pharangalan and the Sequestians.

"Forward! Break them or die trying!"

The mercenaries surged into the ranks of the armored, decaying bodies. Raevan was the spearhead, flanked by two huge men in full plate armor, and the slow, clumsy corpses stood no chance against his strength. They fell in groups of two at his feet, blades flashing in the bloody light of the prison that held their enemy, but the mercenaries were being overrun behind him. There were too many magic-using demons for the mages to properly defend against, and great portions of the company were being slaughtered by powerful storms of fire and lightning. Icicles whizzed through the air, a magic form of projectiles that could pierce even the stoutest armor, and one of the guards beside Raevan was caught in the chest. He fell to the ground, taking another corpse with him and stabbing his blade through its chest. Still, Raevan pushed on.

When Raevan reached the dais that contained the shade, he was sure that it was watching him with contempt, and he heard deep laughter as his men were torn apart behind him. His shield-brothers, cut down by lifeless husks and demonic beasts. Rage pulsed through him with every beat of his heart, motivating the strike of his blade as he cut through the magical bonds holding the column up. The shade's laughter stopped, and it was replaced by a scream of agony and terror. The beasts pressed closer, and Raevan was struck int eh side with a sword, the long blade dragging across his skin like a searing hot brand. He grunted and cut the attacker down, driving his sword into another one of the columns.

"Raevan!" someone shouted, but the warrior paid no heed to the words. He tore through the stone pillars surrounding the shade, sustaining injury after injury. His blood painted the steps below him, but eventually the reddish glow dissipated, and Raevan staggered forward, only to be struck by a hammer and driven to his knees before the shade, swords held limp at his sides.

_Such...courage..._

Raevan lifted his head, struggling to breath. His chest was torn apart by the swords that had cut him, and he knew for a fact that one of his lungs was punctured by the spear lodged in his shoulder.

_Rage...is it?_

The sounds of battle began to fade, and Raevan shook his head as the shade approached him. He couldn't lift his arms to strike at it, however. He heard laughter in his head, and bared his teeth at the shade.

_How does...it feel? To be...helpless..like me?_

Raevan began to struggle in earnest as the shade took his head in its cold, lifeless hands and tilted his head back, to stare into the dark pools of shadow that were its eyes.

_You...have shattered my mind. I have broken...your body._

Something dark and _sickening _collided with Raevan's mind, and he was untrained in defenses against telepathy. He shook his head in vain as cold fingers wormed tehir way into his heart, his mind, his very soul. Couldn't he die in peace? Wasn't he worthy of an honorable end?

_Two halves...of a broken vessel..._

The world disappeared into agony and suffering.

* * *

Raevan stirred. It was a small thing at first, simply a steady beat of his heart as he lay, bleeding, upon the stone.

_Thump._

His eyes cracked open, and the sound of a liquid dropping into a puddle reached his ears, echoing as if from miles away.

_Thump._

His fingers twitched. His vision swam for some reason, and he belatedly realized that he wasn't breathing. Air rushed into his lungs in a huge gasp when he noticed this, and his vision cleared as oxygen once again reached his lungs. His heart beat throbbed in his temples.

How was he alive?

_I have preserved your body. _ A voice echoed in his mind. It terrified him and calmed him all at the same time. It made him tremble with rage and close his eyes in gratitude. He clenched his fists, and there was no opposite to that action.

"Why?" Raevan croaked, his voice broken. Weak.

_You were dying. I was dying. We both live. _The voice reasoned. It made sense. So why was there a part of Raevan that wanted it to be over, regardless? Why did something within him rebel at the very thought of sharing a body with this...this abomination.

Abomination. That was what he was now, wasn't it? The puppet of a shade.

_No. Not a puppet. _The shade spoke again. Raevan rolled over, gasping as pain wracked across his body. _You are in control of your own actions. For now._

Raevan stared into the darkness. He could see perfectly clear, despite the lack of light, and the fact frightened him. His hearing was acute, and it picked up even the sound of breathing from across the chamber. Was one of his men still alive?

_No. The demons have slain the trespassers. They will come for you next. I can provide you with the strength to defeat them. _The voice whispered. It sounded urgent, and Raevan tried to sit up, but was unable to muster the strength.

"I'm still wounded," he choked out.

_I don't know what your body is supposed to feel like, so I don't know what you've broken. _The shade informed him. Raevan lifted his head and looked down at his injuries. The gash in his side was still open. How as he alive when he had lost so much blood? _I contained the remaining fluid inside your body. Although, I am sustaining your life with my own power for the moment._

The gash sealed before Raevan's eyes, muscles pulling themselves back together, intestines mending, arteries closing. He was able to sit up now, and the wound in his shoulder that had impaired his breathing was also healed. Raevan picked up his swords and looked out at the sea of crumpled bodies.

_The corpses were released when I joined with your body. All that remains are the demons that seek to take advantage of my current weakness._

Power seemed to hum in Raevan's body. This was weakness? He brought his legs underneath himself and stood, lifting his blades as if they were feathers. The demons were approaching now, hungry looks int heir eyes as they sensed the power of the shade within him. One of them, a desire demon, tried to cast a hex upon him, but it did nothing. Raevan sensed a shift in the power flowing through him, however, and he knew that the shade had protected him. He gritted his teeth. He knew how to do this.

The first demon was easy, for it wasn't expecting him to approach it and simply run it through the chest with both swords as if its magical shielding wasn't even there. He sneered as it fell to the ground. "That's for my brothers."

The shade sang in delight as he chased the last of them down, running across the corpse-strewn battlefield with astounding speed and leaping through the air, the blades whistling as they drank deeply of demon blood. _Kill them all._

There was no remorse. No hesitation. They were just demons, after all. Horrible monsters.

When the last pride demon fell to the ground, missing a limb and half of its head, Raevan sheathed his blades. He was still jittery with the strength in his limbs, but it was slowly abating.

_I cannot store as much power in this body as before. _ The shade said. Raevan didn't respond to the voice in his head as he looked about at the men that had died at his side. And yet he still lived.

"I should have died with them," Raevan said. His voice echoed in the silence.

_Don't be a fool. I am free, you are alive. What shall we do with that freedom? _The shade asked. Raevan shuddered at some of the intentions that he sensed from the other occupant of his mind.

"We will not be murdering, raping, or stealing," Raevan said firmly. "If you will not allow me to die, then I will seek a worthy challenge."  
_Good luck with that. _The shade said smugly. _There was none that were my equal when I was mortal, long ago._

"You're broken," Raevan said. He could feel the tears in the shade's mind. It was a simple husk of its former self. "You can't even overpower my mind."

The shade was silent.

Raevan had an idea then. It sent shudders down his spine just to imagine what he could do with this shade as his ally. The Chantry would hunt him, that was for certain, but all of Thedas could be affected by his actions now. And he had a perfect vision for this power.

"We will destroy the dragon gods of Tevinter," he said finally. "And end the darkspawn."

The shade seemed to relish the thought of destruction on any level. _That is a worthy test of our skill._

Raevan nodded, and knelt among the dead warriors that he had once led. He said a few short, simple words, words that were spoken at every Thanstitian funeral in Rivain and on the battlefield after a contract.

"The men that have died her today made a sacrifice," Raevan whispered. "We that remain will take it upon our shoulders to repay their debt in blood."

_In blood._


	2. Chapter 1 - The Things That Shadows Say

2

The Things That Shadows Say

Eight Years Later, 9:30 Dragon

Raevan was sitting on a bench in front of a small two-story building in the outskirts of Val Royeaux, fiddling with one of his many knives as he waited for one of his contacts to arrive and inform him of the progress of his organization in Orlais. It had taken almost a decade to gather the support necessary for this undertaking, but now, it was finally coming to fruition.

_All this waiting is getting on my nerves, _Alix said. It was a name that Raevan had given the shade when he grew tired of referring to it by the name of its previous body. He sighed, and muttered under his breath.

"We've been waiting for eight years, a few more minutes will not destroy you."

He didn't have to speak verbally, but it made him feel less crazy than just staring at his boots and having an internal conversation with himself. It was hard to distinguish mental voices from each other, as well, and the conversation soon became utterly confusing. Just as he said those words, the footsteps of an approaching man caught Raevan's attention. He was still twenty yards away, and Raevan tightened his grip on the long knife in his hand. You could never be too careful.

_He won't attack you. _Alix informed him. The nature of the Fade granted the shade limited vision into the immediate future, and he used to to warn Raevan of any threatening events that the human didn't already predict.

Raevan relaxed and sheathed the blade as the man sat down on the bench beside him, leaning casually back. Raevan couldn't see the man's face because of the intricate golden mask that covered it, and the man couldn't see Raevan's face because of the thick hood that hung down over his head, hiding his features. His chin was visible, of course, and the thin line that was his lips, but that gave the other man no indication of what Raevan was thinking. That was an important thing, in Orlais.

"Things come along smoothly in Lydes," the man said, but his head didn't turn. From a distance, it would look like they weren't even speaking. "The supplies you mentioned arrived just yesterday. They've begun excavating the entrance."

That was good. With that information, Raevan deliberated with himself for a brief moment. He should have them prepare for darkspawn, just in case. Once they opened that entrance to the deep roads, there was no knowing what could come out. Of course, it would help his cause if darkspawn raided across Orlais, causing panic and mass hysteria. People tended to give more money to a cause that directly impacted them, and Raevan's war against the darkspawn would definitely be more real to the Orlesians if half their cities were in flames.

But Raevan already had the support of the Empress. So such a display was unnecessary. "Tell them to arm the soldiers when they begin digging," he said to his messenger. "Warn them to be careful."

"Of course."

With that, Raevan stood up and nodded to the masked man. His own footsteps echoed in the alley as he made his way back down the street, towards the main square of the city. The wealth of the Orlesians always impressed him, since he was used to the spartan landscapes of Rivain or the warrior mentality of Nevarra, not the decadent lifestyle of Orlais and the Tevinter Imperium. Massive golden statues stood on either side of the many bridges that crossed over crystalline water, glittering in the sunlight, and the street was built from a myriad of ivory-colored tiles, marked occasionally by a strip of deep red bricks that made it seem as if the very road had been splashed with blood. It was symbolic of the blood that was spilled in order to create Orlais.

It was interesting that the Tevinter Imperium had similar mementos of that war, but they were made in a much more glorious manner, in Raevan's opinion. Magic was always more beautiful than stonework.

Raevan reached his small, unassuming house and stepped inside, keeping his hands close to his blades. He couldn't count the number of times that assassins tried to end his life due to his work, only to end up in the streets of some unknown city, throats cut. No one ever knew their names. Of course, the Antivan Crows had been hired by Raevan himself, so they would not come against him, or else risk losing his quite large patronage. The amount of gold he paid them was disgusting, but his income was huge, and the dent that the Crows put into it was negligible. Transmutation was a fine art, and Raevan had taught it to a mage in Tevinter in exchange for a cut of all the money he made using the skill. The man was discreet, because he knew that if it became common knowledge, then they would torture him to extract the secret to the practice, but the money that he made was ludicrous.

Raevan had other arteries through which he drew resources, as well. In Rivain, he had earned himself a noble title and the surrounding lands that went with it. It hadn't been easy, but he had...persuaded the right people that he could be a worthy ally. Empty promises and honeyed words could get a man to a lot of places. Along with that title, he was also the head of three mercenary groups, which he delegated to trusted representatives. Each group sent a portion of their income to him as they went about their exploits. The largest portion of his money, however, came from illegal trade of weapons crafted by a guild of surface dwarves in Rivain to the Tal'Vashoth in the Qunari islands.

The Qun had not been pleased with the influx of armed Tal'Vashoth, but they were not as dedicated to defeating the darkspawn as Raevan had deemed necessary, and had thus disregarded the Qunari as an ally. He didn't need them to be happy, so he paid no attention to aggravating the Qun with his actions. It might come back to bite him in the ass, if the Qunari burned down his holdings in Rivain, for instance, but so far things had gone swimmingly.

There was a messenger pigeon waiting for him when he reached his bedroom, and he plucked the small roll of paper from its leg delicately, reaching into his desk for a treat. The creature was annoying, but efficient.

_You should slay it before it defiles the bed._

Raevan moved the bird onto his desk, but he did not kill it. "I need it to send messages to the Anderfels. It's too far for conventional messenger."

_I showed you how to make communication mirrors, did I not?_

Raevan shrugged. "Too dangerous," he said. Alix scoffed, a sensation that was strange, considering that it was happening inside of Raevan's head. The communication mirrors were all well and good, as long as the network wasn't compromised by another mage. If that happened, then any conversation over the mirrors was also heard by the spy, and it was undetectable. Raevan had decided that it was better to simply rely on other methods of communication, and it had worked out fairly well so far.

The note from the pigeon informed him that both of the entrances to the Anderfels were open and quiet. The Grey Wardens in that country had sent as many warriors as possible to Raevan's groups, both of which would wait for the Blight to begin before taking action. For there was a Blight coming. The Wardens could feel it, and Alix had told Raevan of a disturbance among the residents of the Fade. The Old God Urthemiel was back.

Raevan replied and told his men to hold until the first battle against the darkspawn in the south. When that battle happened, several things would be put in motion. First, King Cailan of Ferelden would be slain in battle or killed by Raevan's hired Antivan Crows. Second, every Deep Roads entrance in Thedas except for those in Ferelden would be used as staging points for a massive assault on the lost dwarven thaigs. Third, a civil war, sponsored by Raevan, would break out in the Tevinter Imperium, starting with the destruction of the capital city at the hands of a disgruntled Tevinter mage that Raevan had convinced to terrorism.

These things were of varying importance. The most important objective was the second one, for each and every entrance into the Deep Roads would serve to safe-guard the surface from darkspawn incursion. At the moment, the Tevinter Imperium was the only nation that didn't back Raevan's movement in some manner, despite the fact that he had supported them numerous times and requested help from the Archon at every opportunity. The Archon even knew his name, which was more than could be said about some of Raevan's other allies. Specifically, the Free Marches. The independent city-states didn't contact him directly in any capacity, but they still assisted him by supplying soldiers to the deep roads entrances in that area. Raevan's officers in the Free Marches were excellent at making themselves seem like the leader of the operation, when in fact they answered to Raevan.

This had become more than a simple invasion. This was a continent-wide assault on the darkspawn threat, supported by every major country and fueled by centuries of hatred and fear. Raevan was proud of what he had accomplished, but it all hinged on the next several months. That was why he was heading to Ferelden at midnight, to ensure that his...investments there worked as they should. Despite his pact with Empress Celene I to avoid interfering in Ferelden, he had already placed two outposts loyal to him on the border of the Korari Wilds, and had bought a shipping company in Denerim to supply him during his ventures in that country. He had contacted Teryn Loghain anonymously and discussed, briefly, the upcoming darkspawn incursion. Duncan, the Grey Warden Commander, was aware of Raevan's identity and cause, but he was bound by duty to protect Ferelden by ending the Blight as soon as possible, and that was something that did not coincide with Raevan's interests. The Blight had to drag on in Ferelden.

It was a necessary sacrifice.

With his reply penned and rolled, Raevan tied it to the bird and sent it on its way. He fell back into his chair and stared at the desk in thought.

_The archdemon is a fool, just like all the old dragons. _Alix reassured him.

"I know," he said. "As long as the bulk of the darkspawn are on the surface for at least two months, then things will go well."

_Perhaps all of the country will not be lost. If the Fereldens fight with any kind of ferocity, that is. _Alix said, sounding skeptical.

That was true, but the country as relatively young, and the king was a fool. That was why he had to die. Raevan just hoped that it happened in battle, as was honorable, and not at the hands of his Antivan assassins.

With his work in Val Royeaux complete, Raevan stood and prepared for his long journey to Ferelden. It would be important for him to arrive in Ostagar, where the battle was to take place, before the fighting started.

* * *

Empress Celene was walking along the halls in her palace when she felt a cool breeze. Frowning, she paused in the hallway, her robes flowing like liquid around her and pooling gently at her feet. It was a smooth silk gown, made from the finest material in Orlais, and her face was bare of its royal mask. She had been heading to her private quarters, after all. There was a silhouette in the shadows of the statue beside the window that she had to squint at to notice at all, and when her eyes landed upon it, the man that she recognized as Raevan seemed to simply appear from the darkness. The flickering light of the torch further down the hall illuminated his strong jaw and angular nose. His eyes were wide and fiercely intelligent, and his hair was cut close to his scalp by what must have been a simple dagger, for it was rough and poorly done.

The rugged look made him that much more attractive.

"Empress," his hard voice reached towards her like a wisp of smoke. She smiled at the man and reached a hand out towards him.

"There is a front entrance, you know," she reminded him. He took her hand and allowed himself to be pulled further from the shadows. "You don't have to hide in my palace."

"I think that it is best if I do," Raevan replied. Celene paused, and when she finally stopped pulling him forward, he was less than a pace from her. He was truly an imposing figure, standing almost a foot taller than her and twice as broad. His chest was lined with belts of black leather that held various daggers and poultices, and the blades glinted in the torchlight. They were naked, held simply by a band of leather, and the sight of the sharp steel reminded Celene that this was no noble courtier or simple bard. This was Raevan. A nameless shadow, a ruthless visionary. He didn't get into his position of power without his share of evil deeds, and Celene reminded herself to be cautious in her dealings with him.

Her hands trailed down his leather armor. "Must you always wear so much leather?" she admonished, smiling. The man didn't even move.

"I wanted to inform you that my men in this country are preparing to begin the work of breaking into the deep roads. Soldiers and mercenaries have been stationed at all three sites to ensure nothing escapes from them," Raevan said. "I would appreciate it if you could requisition the chantry to send some Templars to each site. The darkspawn use magic extensively in combat, and none of my forces in Orlais are equipped to combat that threat."

"Of course," Celene said. "I already asked them to support your delegates in any manner possible. I only have so much power over their actions, however."

Raevan knew that, but he wasn't able to get any of his contacts into positions of power within the chantry, and he couldn't risk contacting them directly. He had already dealt with too many Templars to readily put himself into a nest of them. "I appreciate anything you can give me."

Celene smiled. "When are your men going to enter the Deep Roads?"

"When the darkspawn arrive in Ferelden," Raevan replied. "The first major conflict is the catalyst. Are you considering lending more soldiers to the effort?"

In truth, Empress Celene had only granted him one division of five hundred chevaliers, the rest of his soldiers in Orlais came from various nobles that offered their personal retinue of men-at-arms and mercenary bands. The dwarves of Orzammar had supported the effort as well, but Raevan couldn't ask them for direct military support. They already fought the darkspawn on a daily basis. Their explosive lyrium powders, however, had made the excavations much quicker.

"No," Celene said, watching his reaction. His face barely shifted, but it was noticeable to a trained eye. It was almost a grimace.

_You could just kill her. The next Emperor might be more pliable. _Alix tempted Raevan, but that option was poorly thought out. Perhaps after the war in Ferelden and Tevinter, he would consider something similar in Orlais. Right now, however, if word got out that he was assassinating kings and empresses, the entire operation would be derailed. His men would become outlaws, all across Thedas. That was unacceptable.

"That is unfortunate," Raevan said at long last. "Three thousand men at each site might be enough to stop whatever resistance we encounter. I make no promises."

In fact, Orlais was the weakest of all the entrances in Thedas. The others all had at least five thousand men at each, a number that would sustain them for many months in the conflict to come. Raevan hoped that the darkspawn didn't number more than twenty thousand, but he doubted that it would be so easy as for his armies to outnumber their enemy. No, there would be hordes of them in the deep, waiting for them. That was fine.  
Celene didn't appreciate him insinuating that it would be her fault if the darkspawn got through. "I am sure that your men will be fine," she said at long last. In truth, she didn't see any reason why she should give him more soldiers when she was sure that he had more men elsewhere that could be drawn to Orlais. She didn't know the strength of his forces, and that worried her. "How many men do you have in terms of armies?"

"In Orlais?" Raevan asked, finally shifting his posture into a slightly more defensive stance. His arms crossed over his chest.

"Thedas," Celene corrected. Perhaps he would simply tell her. Or lie to her. Either option was more acceptable that simply not knowing a number at all. At least, if he lied, she could estimate.

Raevan knew why she was asking. She feared that he would turn those men to another cause, but the truth was that they were only lent to him by various governments for the purpose of defeating the darkspawn. It had taken a lot of money to loosen the tight hold that the bureaucrats kept on their soldiers, and it wouldn't do to tell Celene his exact estimate. It might scare her into being uncooperative.

The number couldn't be too small, however, or she would know that he was lying. The real number of soldiers, including mercenary companies, was fifty-four thousand men, roughly. There were fifteen thousand in Anderfels, nine thousand in Orlais, ten thousand in Tevinter, eight thousand in Rivain, twelve thousand in Nevarra. Antiva had no deep roads entrances, so no men were required there, and he had agreed to keep large armies out of Ferelden for Celene's own political intentions.

Raevan decided on a believable underestimation. "Thirty-eight thousand," he said. It was impossible to tell if he was lying just by looking, since his eyes were shrouded by the angle of his profile, and Celene huffed. That was a lot of men. It was a third of her armies, and more than twice that of Ferelden's.

"Impressive, for a mere Rivaini noble," she said offhandedly. Raevan shrugged.

"It might not be enough," he said honestly. "The dwarves had many times that number when they fell."

_The dwarves were fools, _Alix said, using his favorite word. It seemed everyone in Thedas was a fool to the Fade spirit. _They would not unite to face the threat, and died because of it. They still cannot unite, and there is only two thaigs left._

Celene looked troubled, but waved her hand. "We'll find out in the coming months, shall we not?"

"It appears so. That is all I had to say," Raevan said, attempting to excuse himself. He had to get underway to Ferelden.

"So you're just going to leave?" Celene inquired, taking his hand as he moved back towards the window. She was no swooning maiden, but it had been a long time since he had last visited her in person, and she still remembered the fun they had. Raevan, however, appeared impassive.

"I have a long journey ahead of me," he said. After a moment, he added. "Sorry."

"Of course," she said. "This was supposed to be a professional agreement, after all."

Raevan had slept with her in an attempt to make her more sympathetic to his cause, but she seemed very adept at separating business from pleasure. Too bad, he could have used an Empress as a puppet. Alix scoffed.

_You enjoyed it. Don't lie to yourself._

Raevan had to admit that Celene was a very beautiful woman. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and pulled away from the Empress. The shadows embraced him once again, and a breeze swept through the hallway.

"You could use the door," Celene said, teasing. She peered into the shadows, but he was already gone. "Hmph."

She closed the window and locked it, despite the fact that it hadn't stopped him the other two times. She would post guards in the corridors tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 2 - The Failures of the Sons

2

The Failures of the Sons

Thranlin didn't quite understand why the people loved him more than his brothers, or what it was about his personality that inspired so much loyalty in the Assembly, even when he did nothing to gain their favor, but it was something that served only to become a nuisance to Thranlin and a threat to his brothers. It was easy to understand why the would support him, but that, by no means, made him the better candidate for king. Currently, as he walked through the Commons, flanked by a squad of royal guards and Gorim, his faithful second, it was easy to see that the people adored him. They stopped as he passed, and Thranlin could feel the heavy burden of their stares on his back. Some of them even knelt reverently when they saw him, and yet others cried out in applause upon seeing him.

Thranlin wondered if it was the armor that he was wearing that inspired such awe.

He was relieved when they reached the Proving Grounds, but it seemed that the Proving Master was not, for he was currently hauling a dwarf by the back of his armor towards the exit when Thranlin and his royal guards arrived.

"By the Stone!" the huge, scarred dwarf exclaimed when he saw the second son of the king standing in his way. The dwarf in his arms didn't seem to mind...much.

"Let me go you sodding nug-humper, or I swear that I'll tear your spleen out through your throat!" he hissed, fighting to right himself, but unable to break the Proving Master's vice-like grip on the back of his armor. "Piss!"

"What is going on here?" Thranlin questioned, a smirk coming to his face at the restrained dwarf's expletives. "Your friend seems very distressed."

"He ain't my friend you smelly noble!" the restrained dwarf cried, batting at the hand that held him, but failing to actually hit it. "Let me go!"

The Proving Master did just that, and the obnoxious dwarf fell flat on his face with a thud, only to be picked up again and held even tighter. "My grip was slipping," the Proving Master said, grinning. The grin disappeared, however, in favor of a hearty scowl. "This casteless has disgraced the proving grounds!"

"Oh, get over it, you sodding tight-ass!" the brand snapped in reply.

"Explain, please," Thranlin requested, falling into a hip as he watched the casteless struggle.

The Proving Master sighed. "It really is my fault..."

"Just get on with it!" the brand cried.

The proving Master continued as if the brand hadn't spoken. "The proving in your honor was about to begin, but just as there was an open proving that was finishing up, and this dwarf was revealed to be a fake. He had stolen Everd's armor and fought in the warrior's place!" the Proving Master declared, obviously furious.

"Everd was drunk as piss," the brand explained gruffly. "What else was I gonna do? I had good money on that nug-humper!"

"And what happened after that?" Thranlin asked. 'The proving was completed, I hope."

"I won, you sodding idiot!" the brand spluttered, and was smacked on the back of the head by the Proving Master. Considering the armored gauntlet, that could not have felt very good.

"This is Thranlin Aeducan, slime," he spat. "Speak with respect."

"Respect? Respect?!" the dwarf began to struggle in earnest. "When was the last time I gave a shit?!"

"This is the champion of the proving?" Thranlin asked, impressed. "And you're hauling him out by the scruff of his neck?"

"He disgraced the traditions!" the Proving Master repeated.

Thranlin shook his head. "There is no restriction on who may participate in an open proving," he reminded the Proving Master. "Although, impersonating another warrior isn't exactly proper."

"Shove it!" the brand declared vehemently. Thranlin frowned down at the brand.

"Are you saying that we should let him go?" the Proving Master asked, incredulous.

"Everd _was _drunk, I assume?" Thranlin asked, taking the brand and hauling him to his feet with one arm. That was a feat within itself. The dwarf brushed himself off and glared.

The Proving Master, in the meantime, was about to explode. "This is a disgrace! What about our traditions? We can't let casteless go around, impersonating our warriors in the proving grounds!"

"If they win, then perhaps we should be replacing our warriors with the casteless," Thranlin snapped, suddenly angry. "If this dwarf bested every other warrior you set him against, in the very arena of our ancestors, how can you deny his worth?"

The Proving Master was speechless. "My lord, I..."

"Ha!" the brand gloated. "Look who's blubbering now!"

"Casteless," Thranlin intoned, "What is your name?"

"Breskan," he grunted. "And don't you forget it!"

Thranlin grinned, clapping the dwarf on the shoulder. "Go with honor, friend."

Thranlin would search for him later and offer him a position in his royal guard.

Breskan was speechless, but he was ushered out by a furious Proving Master before any other words could be exchanged. "Are you done disgracing our ancestors, my lord?"

"You will not speak to the son of King Endrin in such a manner!" Gorim barked. Thranlin wondered why he hadn't said anything to Breskan, if it really was so important.

"Peace," he said, laughing. "Yes, my good man, I think I am. I will head to my booth, to observe the proving. Hopefully there are no more interruptions..."

* * *

"I would like those scouts to be from my own men," Legate Thranlin Aeducan said, putting his finger on the map. His armored gauntlet clanged softly as it came into contact with the barrel that they were using as a table. "Assign Legionnaire Veshran and Legionnaire Sczibor. I am taking one of the centuries with me to fetch this shield from the lost thaig. The others are under the command of Legate Bashniz."

"You're correct," King Endrin said, nodding. "It improves efficiency to have all the men in an area under the same commander. I will have the orders given immediately."

Prince Bhelen, placed in command of a legion despite his lack of skill, frowned at the map. "Doesn't it look cowardly to let the Grey Wardens go into the most dangerous sections alone?"

The King looked to the map. "I won't risk our tribunes in those tunnels," he said. "If the humans want to die, then they can do so alone. Our main objective is the mining shafts and the lost thaig."

Duncan, the Grey Warden, nodded his head. "Of course," he said. "I can't expect you to risk your men for the sake of our objective. We will be fine in those tunnels alone."

The second son of the king, just recently named Legate, straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. "My men await me, my king," he said. "We are departing just as the second legion blows the horn."

The king bowed his head, and Thranlin marched away, to the ranks of soldiers that were awaiting his orders. There were eighty of them, all armed and armored in identical equipment and watching the centurion before them as he shouted orders to his men. The Centurion, a massive dwarf named Hauthlen, turned as Thranlin approached. Gorim turned as well, and Thranlin's voice boomed out over the men that were gathered.

"Legionnaire Veshran, Legionnaire Sczibor, step forward."

The ranks parted, and the two soldiers walked forward, slamming an arm into their chest in salute. Thranlin nodded to them. "You are assigned to scout the tunnels ahead. Veshran,you will stop at the first crossroads. Sczibor, you're going to continue one tunnel further. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they both shouted. The war-cries echoing from further down the road warned Thranlin that the main army was being engaged. The darkspawn presence in these tunnels had lessened over the past several months, but there were still thousands of them crawling in the dark. It was a good thing that they had brought two legions to fight them. Thranlin drew the wide targe from his back and pulled his blade from his scabbard. The entire century of men followed his lead in unison, shouting a single syllable as they did so and holding their shields in an organized line. With Sczibor and Veshran ahead, that left Thranlin with eighty one soldiers, including himself and Gorim. The usual century was eighty one men, including the centurion, and with their Legate present with his second, it gave him a significant force of men.

After several moments of waiting, Thranlin heard the horn bark out three sharp notes, and he knew that the second legion was advancing into the conflict. He raised his arm and signaled that the march was to begin. Putting his shield ahead of himself, Thranlin led the march into the darkspawn tunnels, the sound of his century's feet at his back.

Gorim was at his side, and as they pressed deeper into the tunnels, he whispered. "Do you think that Bhelen was telling the truth?"

"About Trian?" Thranlin asked, turning his eyes to the ceiling. It was eerily calm. "No. My brother is thick-headed, but he is not foolish enough to hire thugs to kill his own brother."

Gorim snorted in amusement, and they rounded the corner into a crossroads. There was a fire burning in the center of the wide intersection, and a group of hurlocks were standing around it, growling.

The century halted, and the darkspawn turned to them. Gorim and Thranlin joined the shield wall in the corridor, and Thranlin shouted. "Contact front! Advance ten paces!"

The century marched forward in lock-step, and the darkspawn hissed and roared. There were only ten or twenty of them, however, and they were reluctant to engage the dwarven unit. On the tenth pace, they charged forward, and the dwarves readied their weapons.

The darkspawn crashed into the shields with the force of a battering ram, but the legion held the line, gutting the beasts through the space between each targe. Several dwarves were dinged on the head by darkspawn swords, but they recovered quickly, and soon there was nothing but carnage in the road before them.

Thranlin knew that more darkspawn would come, now that they had been spotted. "Stay on your guard. Watch your flanks as we advance!"

The century moved forward...right into a darkspawn ambush.

There were swarms of them in both tunnels, and the cries of alarm went up as the century formed a circle around the fire. "Hold the line!" Thranlin shouted as the darkspawn charged forward, arrows whizzing over their shoulders and pinging off the shields of the legionnaires. Thranlin's legion was known for their fierce skill, and they hunkered down expertly as the darkspawn rushed forward. Outnumbered two to one, the dwarves held them back.

Thranlin was holding a space meant for three men with only Gorim at his side, bashing and crushing every enemy that dared to approach the golden-armored dwarf. Gorim and his lord fought like one unit, turning with their footwork in unison, blocking and defending each others blind spots. It was an art form as surely as single combat was, and after what seemed like an hour of endless fighting, the darkspawn retreated back into the tunnels, leaving the dwarves alone. The fire was still cackling as Thranlin gathered himself.

"Centurion! Status!" he barked.

Hauthlen was before Thranlin in a blink. "Ten dead, five wounded."

"Can the wounded walk?" Thranlin asked. Hauthlen turned his helm to look at the five inured dwarves. They were lying in a group, surrounded by statuesque soldiers. One of them was missing a leg. "Damn. Have two men stay behind to take him back to the main column. We can't afford any more than that."

"Yessir!" the centurion responded, barking the orders. "Form up!"

"We march that way," Thranlin said, pointing down the tunnel and walking towards it. His blood-splattered shield was still firm in his arms as they made their way through the tunnel.

The next encounter with the darkspawn was in a tight corridor, and it was a gruesome fight indeed.

"OGRE!" one of the legionnaires roared, and the dwarves all surged forward in response. The general tactic for these beasts was to overrun them and slice their legs and arms, but Thranlin went cold when he heard the cry. It was often a costly maneuver. The beast rounded the corner, surrounded by a mob of genlocks, and its terrifying visage gave the entire century pause.

"Move!" Thranlin barked, and the century pushed against the throng of darkspawn. Thranlin was in the second rank of soldiers, and he saw two of them in front of him have their shields torn from their grasp, only to be gutted by darkspawn curved blades. Blood sprayed against Thranlin's armor and he stepped into the gap, cutting through the enemies that had killed his soldiers. The ogre reached the front lines of the century in three large steps, swiping aside a group of five dwarves like flies.

"Gorim!" Thranlin shouted, blocking the huge overhead slam from a two handed ax. "The ogre!"  
Thranlin's second nodded and pushed his way towards the huge beast. One of the dwarves lunged forward, burying his sword into the gut of the beast, but it crushed him into the ground with a single fist, ignoring the blade that was now hanging from its stomach and roaring in anger. Gorim and a group of six other legionnaires rushed forward, cutting into his arms and legs, and the ogre slapped two of them aside, but that gave Gorim the opening he needed to get between its legs. He cut the inside of its right thigh deeply with his sword and stabbed the tip through its other leg. Blood poured across the ground, and Gorim blanched at the stench as he rolled away from the searching hands. The ogre fell to its knees, only to be struck by a brave warrior in the chest. The dwarven sword pierce its thick bones and cut into its corrupt heart.

Thranlin grinned as the beast was taken down, but the other darkspawn weren't going to wait for a celebration. "Form up!"  
The century attempted to form ranks once again, but the battle was essentially a melee for the next ten minutes. Gorim made his way back to his lord's side, and together they tore through the darkspawn like child's play. The century attempted to keep up with the heroism of their Legate, but many of them simply gave up and focused on keeping themselves alive. The last darkspawn fell tot eh ground, missing its right arm and its head, and the century paused, stunned by the struggle.

"Report!" Thranlin called, panting. He was cut badly in the left arm, and his shield felt a hundred pounds heavier. He pulled a healing poultice from his belt and slathered it onto the wound, but it merely stopped the bleeding.

"Hauthren's dead!" one of the legionnaires called. Thranlin swore and walked to where the soldier was kneeling over the centurion.

"You're the centurion," he said, slapping the soldier on the shoulder. "How many did we lose?"

It took a moment to assess their losses. "Forty seven legionnaires left, Legate!" the new centurion replied. He stood tall before his commander, despite his blood streaked, weary visage.

"What's your name, soldier?" Thranlin asked him. The man slammed his sword into his shield.

"Vacklan, sir!"

"If we encounter another horde like that, we are to retreat. Orderly. I want no more losses than necessary. This shield isn't worth a whole century!"  
"Aye, sir!" Vacklan replied, crisp and loud. "Form up, we move forward!"

"What of the wounded, sir?" one of the soldiers asked.

"If they can walk they come with us. If they can't they will wait here for us to return through these tunnels," Vacklan replied. That was a nice way of saying that they were to be left for dead. Vacklan knew what the responsibilities of a centurion were, even if he had only been in command for a few minutes, and even though it pained him, they could spare no resources for the dying. Thranlin regarded him with a solemn nod, then turned to Gorim.

"Are you wounded, my friend?" he asked. The other warrior grunted.

"A little scratch," he said. That little scratch stretched all the way across Gorim's chest, but it didn't look deep. That didn't mean it wasn't painful. "It won't keep me from your side, my lord."

Thranlin nodded and took his place at the far left side of the first rank, beside Vacklan. As a unit, they continued forward. The first crossroad was nearby, and when they reached it, the scout was slouched beside a pillar, surrounded by a ring of dead darkspawn.

"Legate!" he called tiredly as he heard the legion approaching. Thranlin approached him, and the legion surrounded the position, keeping their shields high and alert. "The darkspawn...they pulled towards the main road..."

The wounds that the soldier suffered were lethal, that much Thranlin could tell. He gritted his teeth. "Do you know if the other scout made it through?"  
"He survived this battle," the legionnaire informed his commander. "He went forward after I was wounded. He should be down that tunnel there..."  
"May the stone support you," Thranlin said, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. The dwarf nodded.

"I won't last...long..." the dwarf said. "Go with honor, Legate..."

Thranlin stood. "We must move quickly," he said. "The other scout will be waiting."  
Vacklan nodded. "Forward!"  
The century found the other scout, but he wasn't alive. He was impaled on a spike ten feet tall, suspended above a roaring fire. The darkspawn had overtaken this tunnel while he was waiting it seemed, but they were gone now. "Dammit!" Thranlin cursed. "Why did my father insist on sending scouts..."

"What now, Legate?"  
Thranlin contemplated his options. The abandoned thaig would be free of darkspawn, he hoped, and it wasn't likely that they would flank him for the return journey. All in all, it would be a shame to come this far and give up.  
"We move forward. The secret doorway should be down that tunnel," he said. "There won't be anything there, I hope."  
Thranlin should have known that it wasn't going to be that easy. They reached the secret doorway, only to find the corpses of dwarven mercenaries and darkspawn strewn across the entrance. The century stopped, eying the thin doorway, and Thranlin knew that only two people could fit through it at a time. This was the perfect place for an ambush, from either darkspawn or these mercenaries.

"Who are these men?" Thranlin asked Gorim. His second knelt beside one of the corpses and looked at the design on the shield.

"Duster mercenaries," he said. "This is the Bralt Company, I believe."

"We need to get through that door as fast as possible. Who knows what's waiting on the other side," Vacklan said. Thranlin nodded gravely.

"Might as well get it over with. MOVE!"

The legionnaires were met with crossbow quarrels as they sprinted through the door, forming a shield barricade on the other side as the soldiers poured through. The first dwarf through took the bolt to the head, bone and blood spraying those that followed, and his body was thrown to the side as they barreled past. The mercenaries that were waiting were lined up outside the houses on either side of the road, and a line of shielded warriors were blocking the path through. This century had no missile support, so they would be forced to make their way through the street to reach the crossbowmen.

"Testudo!" Thranlin shouted, putting his shield above his head. The century responded in less than a second, forming up into a tight square of shields in an orderly and disciplined fashion. As the shields swung up, Thranlin couldn't help but grin at his men.

"Forward!" he barked, and the group shuffled towards the mercenary soldiers. The fight was gruesome and bloody, arrows raining down from above and smacking onto the shields as the front-line soldiers brawled with the various brands in the street. Blood made the stone slippery as they shuffled forward, and the sound of flesh being torn by blades and arrows was all that could be heard over the shouts of pain.

Thranlin was on the front lines as they finally broke the brand resistance, pouring up the stairs and cutting the archers down with no remorse. Several more of the legionnaires fell with arrows sticking out of their chests or legs, but when the fight was over, there were seven surrendering brands and thirty remaining legionnaires.  
"Kill them," Thranlin spat, watching as the surrendering men were pierced through by the blades of his men. "This is a disgrace. The shield should be in that building." Thranlin waved int eh general direction of the mess hall.

Vacklan, Gorim, and Thranlin ordered the remaining soldiers to stand guard outside the hall that held the Aeducan shield,and they entered the room. There was a large box in the center of the room, and raised tiles surrounded it in a triangular shape.

Three tiles and the box. "Get another man in here," Thranlin ordered Vacklan. "Stand there, Gorim."

The plate lowered as the armored dwarf stood atop it. Thranlin grinned, and Vacklan caught on as he entered the room with a wounded soldier.

When all three tiles were depressed, Thranlin placed his signet ring into the box and it cracked open. Before he could pull the shield free, however, another soldier entered the hall. "Legate!"  
Thranlin turned. "Yes?"  
"We found an Aeducan signet ring on the mercenary captain's corpse..."  
Thranlin approached and took the ring from the soldier, staring down at the small trinket in shock. It was Trian's ring. Gorim walked to his side, holding the Aeducan shield, and gasped. "That's your brother's ring."  
"He either hired the mercenaries, or the ring was stolen," Thranlin said, and he knew which of those options was more likely. "Dammit, brother!"

"Sir, shall we continue to the rendezvous?" Vacklan inquired, watching his commander wearily.

Thranlin pocketed the ring. "Yes, Centurion. Let's try not to lose any more men in this venture."

That might have been the words hat sealed their fate.

Taking the family shield from Gorim, Thranlin slid it over his shoulders, his own shield hanging at his side. His arm had begun bleeding again at some point during the fight with the mercenaries, and when they exited back into the thaig, darkspawn were approaching from the tunnel that led to the crossroads.

"Blast!" Thranlin cursed. "Back to the door!"

The century moved faster than they had ever before, with Thranlin taking the rear. The darkspawn were lobbing arrows towards them, but they were poorly crafted, and merely dinged off the armor of the retreating soldiers.

When they reached the door, however, more darkspawn were swarming through it as well. The century stopped and pressed in around their legate. "Push through the door!" Thranlin ordered, casting a look at the approaching horde. "Don't stop until we reach the crossroads!"  
With a heroic cry, the dwarves charged forward. Thranlin was the fifth dwarf through the door, throwing a genlock to the ground with his shield and stabbing it through the chest. The other legionnaires followed him as he charged forward, bowling the darkspawn over and not bothering to stop and finish them. The men behind him cut them down as they passed, blades flashing in the light of the fires, and blood painted the walls as the dwarves pushed through the crowd. Thranlin took a crossbow quarrel to the side at some point, shot by a darkspawn wielding one of the mercenary bows, but he ignored it and led his men forward. By the time they broke free of the horde, there were only fifteen of them remaining. One of them fell with an arrow in his neck as they rounded the corner, and Thranlin spotted Gorim dragging a wounded man behind him.

"Leave him!" he barked. There was no time to haul wounded men from the fight. Gorim looked reluctant, but he dropped the soldier and sprinted beside his lord. "The crossroads is just ahead!"

They reached it, only to find another group of legionnaires, holding shields of this fifth cohort, surrounding the center platform. "Hail!"  
Thranlin approached them, and the few soldiers left formed a half circle around him, facing towards the tunnels. "Hail!" Thranlin replied, still out of breath. "What is the fifth cohort doing here?"

"Lord Trian ordered us to this crossroads," the centurion replied. "Where is the rest of your century, Legate?"

"Dead," Thranlin replied thickly. "The darkspawn are coming in huge numbers. We barely escaped alive."

"Seventy men..." the centurion cursed. "Lord Trian was wounded by a deserter, Legate. He is behind me."

Thranlin pushed through the circle of soldiers and saw Trian lying on his back, a blade sticking from his gut. His helmet was off, and he was writhing on the ground. When Thranlin approached, he saw that the dagger had his seal on the hilt. "What trickery is this?"

"We don't know," the centurion replied. "There was a casteless among us. He approached your brother and drove the blade into his gut. He was beheaded by a legionnaire."

The man gestured to a corpse lying on the ground, in a growing pool of blood.

They heard approaching footsteps and the century tightened up, holding their shields in an impenetrable wall. As a group of royal guards rounded the corner, however, they relaxed. Bhelen's voice echoed through the tunnels. "Come! Trian is in trouble!"

Bhelen and King Endrin approached the ranks of legionnaires, and when they broke through the ranks of men, Thranlin saluted with his sword against his shield. "My king!"

"My son," Edrin replied. "What happened here?"  
"A deserter stabbed Trian," Thranlin replied.

King Endrin knelt beside Trian, who was struggling to breath. "You...bastard!" Bhelen spat at Thranlin.

Thranlin blinked. "What?"

"You hired that man!" Bhelen accused immediately, pointing to the beheaded casteless. "Why else would your dagger be sticking from your brother's gut!"

Thranlin narrowed his eyes. "How did you know that Trian was injured? Why did mercenaries that killed my men have Trian's signet ring? Why is it that my dagger, which was safely in a chest in my bedchambers, is now tasting my brother's blood?"

King Endrin pulled a vial of healing poultice from his pack. "He is gravely wounded."

Bhelen marched forward and pushed Thranlin in the chest. "How could you do this to your brother?!"  
Thranlin sheathed his sword. "Bhelen, now is not the time to cast blame. Our brother is wounded."

"My lord was in the tunnels fighting to retrieve the shield for several hours now. We fought mercenaries bearing Trian's signet ring in the lost thaig," Gorim said.

"Where is your century?" Endrin asked his son, standing.

The remaining twelve soldiers pushed into the circle, standing at Thranlin's back. "We're all that's left," one of them said, stepping forward. "Centurion Hauthren is dead. Centurion Vacklan was killed during our retreat."  
Endrin looked stricken. "Twelve men? You had a whole century and you return with twelve men?"

"There were several legions of darkspawn in the tunnels, my king," the legionnaire said. "The Legate saved our lives with his skill."

Bhelen was kneeling beside the corpse of the deserter, and he removed a note. "Look, father!"  
"My king!" the centurion of the fifth cohort said in surprise. Trian was lying still, and his eyes were lifeless. The heir to the throne was dead.

King Endirn was silent as he knelt once more beside Trian, silent tears sliding down his aged face.

"This is a note of hire, father!" Bhelen said, pulling on Endrin's arm.

Thranlin moved forward and bashed Bhelen aside. "Silence, fool!" he barked. "Can't you see, Father is mourning!"

"Thranlin...tell me that this isn't true..." Endrin whispered.

"Upon my honor and my ancestors, I did not hire that man to kill Trian Aeducan," Thranlin replied. "He was my brother! My future king!"

Endrin stood and snatched the proof of hire from Bhelen. His eyes scanned the paper, and his face paled as he turned it and showed Thranlin.

Thranlin's seal was frozen in wax upon the note, unmistakeable and clear.

"My son...I wish I could believe you." Endrin said. "Restrain this traitor. We return to Orzammar as soon as the battle draws to a close."

As the centurion moved forward, the twelve legionnaires surrounded their legate and drew their blades. "Legate Thranlin is innocent!" they shouted as one voice. Gorim was standing beside his lord, staring at the seal on the paper.

"Stand aside, soldier!" the centurion barked.

The legionnaires remained where they were for a long moment. Thranlin, shaking with rage, threw his shield and sword to the ground, drawing the Aeducan family shield from his back and spitting upon its design. It clattered to the ground with the gasps of the soldiers that surrounded them, and Endrin looked as if he had been slapped. Thranlin's helmet fell next to the discarded items, and he looked at his father with tears of betrayal, sorrow, and anger on his face.

"Stand aside, men," he ordered, voice gravelly and dark. "If my father wishes to kill another of his sons, then let him do so."

The Centurion stepped forward and struck Thranlin's head with the pommel of his sword. King Endrin turned to Bhelen, and he knew from the look in the youngest son's eyes who was responsible for this disgrace. But he couldn't prove it.

"Go from me, boy," he spat. "I never want to see your face again."

Bhelen blinked, looking shocked, and the soldiers shifted uncomfortably.

"Father..." the youngest prince began, and Endrin struck him with the back of his hand so fast that no one saw the blow. Bhelen staggered back, and Endrin's voice echoed through the cavern.

"Curse you!" he roared. "You are not my son! I have no sons..."


End file.
